Let the Rain Pour
by Dramatic Insanity
Summary: It would be a cold day in hell before James Gordon potentially threw all his hard work down the drain for a brief moment of pleasure, no matter how electrifying it could turn out to be. Oh wait, it was cold, and he was convinced that Gotham was equivalent to hell right then. He was so doomed.


An unmistakable thickness could be felt in the air that day in the city of Gotham. The buildings pierced the ominous atmosphere, proud as they blocked the breeze. Dark gray clouds loomed in a sky that may have appeared more blue that morning. They gave a sense of foreboding but perhaps comfort in their consistency to some, those who knew the rain would be falling any moment.

The two men trudged along the sidewalk through a few throngs of people. One walked along, carrying a closed umbrella, seemingly because of the warning of tumultuous weather. He talked rapidly to his partner, his head tilted slightly so he could look the other in his dark blue eyes. Those eyes darted warily, constantly vigilant for any sign of crime. He may also have been hoping that no one he knows would see him.

He flicked his focus back to the green eyes of the man speaking to him. He drew his hand over his short hair, silently wondering if he had just felt a raindrop. He regretted not bringing an umbrella as he took in the one owned by his friend.

When he had come to think of this man as his friend, he did not know. One day it became a recurring way to think of him, rather than his last name, Cobblepot.

James Gordon did not know what he had gotten himself into. There was a sense of dread in his stomach at times, a gut feeling that he knew he could always trust. Nevertheless, these days his confidence was not solely focused in his own instincts.

"Trust me," the words of Oswald Cobblepot reverberated in his head. Had the detective known what that would entail, he would have walked away.

Honestly, he did not know who he thought he was kidding. He would not have been able to stay away. He was drawn in like a hapless magnet. Jim accidentally let out a short, humorless laugh at his borderline romantic thoughts. They were dangerous, and so was Cobblepot. Combining them could prove a disaster, yet a small part of him wondered if it could mean the best thing to ever happen to him, possibly more so than his ex-fiancée Barbara had ever been.

The man beside him froze and his eyes narrowed accusingly. Jim mentally sighed. It was back to this again. He thought they were past this. During the beginning of their business partnership, as he referred to it as in his mind, they danced around each other like they were walking on eggshells. Jim was swept away by his own reflection of the past months just then, and as a result he heard his confused and not a little infuriated friend's voice as if he were far away.

"May I ask why you responded to me in such a way? I do not appreciate it!"

His friend- Cobblepot in particular was sensitive, especially in certain emotional sore spots. Jim became an expert at handling his delicate moods, but lately he had been slacking and careless due to his apparent, growing attraction- no, fascination. That was better. Cobblepot was fascinating, complex and definitely not attractive.

No, not his razor sharp features, not the crinkles at the edges of his eyes when he presented a full grin, not the way his smiles put lines in his cheeks that made his pointed chin stand out even more, nor the frighteningly chilling countenance he had when enraged or thinking of murder could make him anything apart from entirely unappealing.

He was certainly not swallowed by Oswald's soulful bright green eyes that shone with the indefatigable ferocity of the life inside him, that wanted to thrive and be appreciated, respected, and above the rest, feared. Most who saw him would observe solely the innocent and polite facade Jim had learned that he put on for show to those he did not trust and those he simply wanted to fool. In other words, he stripped his mask to give away his true self, a person that was neither as strong or as weak as he wanted anyone else to believe, for an ever reluctant Detective Gordon.

All in all, Jim had spent way too much time with the man, especially following the complete development of their undeniably odd friendship in more recent months, and he was not attracted to him, not even a little bit. He would surely lose his mind beyond hope of recovery if he dared to go down that road.

"Well?" Oswald insisted impatiently.

"I was just thinking-" Jim began.

"About what?"

"You," he blurted. Oh what an idiot he was. Now the man would think he was laughing at him and not his own ridiculous musings. Oswald opened his mouth and his eyes nearly seemed to glitter with anger.

Avoiding those orbs in the name of self-preservation and so he would not risk provoking him further, Jim instead found his gaze drawn to the man's mouth, where his yellowing, barely crooked teeth were showing from behind his supple lips. Jim had a moment to be horrified that he was actually ogling the man's lips, for fuck's sake what was wrong with him. Thereupon, they were interrupted by a clap of thunder.

A moment later a fall of rain rapidly started to drench them. Jim reacted quickly, pulling his jacket up in an attempt to protect his head and looking around for cover. He saw a place not too far with an awning and raced toward it, hoping he would reach it before he was completely soaked to the skin.

There was a choked sound behind him.

A voice croaked, "Wait, James, you moron!"

Puzzled, Jim slowed down somewhat, but he continued to stroll at a fairly swift pace. He was not going to stop to think about why Oswald was telling him to wait, because in all likelihood the harshness of the rainfall was only going to become worse.

There was a pained sound, followed by awkward footsteps. Then, without warning, the rain was no longer hitting Jim. His eyebrows furrowed. He tipped his head back, mouth opening slightly with incredulity. He whipped his head sideways, his blue eyes landing solidly on one Oswald Cobblepot who stood behind him, appearing winded, as he was breathing heavily. He stared into Jim's eyes for a stretch of time that he did not count the minutes of. In that instant, there was only the two of them, and nothing else seemed to be in existence.

Lost in deep green pools that seemed to radiate the cunning and ambition hidden in the frail looking shell, it took Jim a minute to realize that Oswald - damn it when did he start thinking of him by his first name - was not standing under the umbrella with him.

Consequently, he was now nearly soaked and getting wetter by the second. Jim found his body heating up in parts he did not want it to, when he realized that train of thought was going to places it should not. He was not going to think about that man in the shower, water sliding and dripping over and down his body, moaning as he pleasured himself. He imagined the reasonable and logical part of his mind cutting the thought off like a knife slicing warm butter. He could not prevent the thought appearing of his friend drenched in something besides water. This fantasy also featured a significant lack of clothes.

Blinking rapidly as he tried to think of unpleasant things such as brutally murdered children and puppies killed on the road by fast moving cars, he reached forward, barely thinking and grasped Oswald by his forearm. Said man looked extremely alarmed, his eyes widening.

Oswald's other hand had been firmly clasped around the umbrella's smooth, black handle. His grip slackened on it in reaction to the surprise contact. Jim's eyes flicked briefly toward it, and though it was a quick moment, Oswald noticed that the other man's pupils had dilated, and he wondered what could be the cause.

"There's enough room under here for both of us you know," Jim announced, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Green met blue as electricity seemed to crackle through the air.

Reluctantly, Oswald grasped the handle of the umbrella more firmly and maneuvered himself underneath.

"Emperor penguins huddle together for warmth in the harshest months," he murmured unexpectedly, not meeting Jim Gordon's captivating eyes for fear of not being able to get the words out. There was a tense moment when fears raced through his mind, despite his attempts to banish such useless, unnecessary considerations of the worst possible outcomes of his rash comment. He would in most circumstances have weighed the pros and cons and thought about every possible outcome, then found a way to be sure it was favorable. Had he done that here, the opportunity might have been lost. Sometimes, grabbing a chance before it passed was not the worst idea.

He braced for what could be a strongly negative reaction to his suggestion, or rather, his insinuation that they should be pressed against each other. For there was no lying to himself, that's what it was. He wanted to be closer. He did not show any of it on his face, opting instead for an impish grin.

Jim seemed to be within his own contemplation, and he did not seem to notice his counterpart silently panicking over his slow processing of his mumbled suggestion. He nodded to himself, decision made. With a sharp tug, a heap of drenched, supposed avian-like man was pressed to him all at once. Oswald tensed immediately, startled. Jim shivered both at the contact and the cold. It was clear he had overestimated Oswald's reaction time, or maybe his attention span.

Normally, a person would get viciously stabbed for such behavior. His fingers twitched instinctively for the knife hidden away on his person. He resisted the urge, partly because Gordon was a useful and necessary asset. Come to think of it, these days, he was more than that to Oswald. At first he was a reliable means to an ends who was relatively easy to take advantage of. He never felt guilty about it, yet that mindset had all but stopped the day he literally took a bullet for James, and he had gotten the scar by his heart to show for the act.

Despite how bold he was being, he had strong doubts that Jim Gordon, good soul that he was, would want to pursue anything serious. He probably struggled to sleep at night just being a friend and accepting inside information from him. After all, Oswald was not a good person. Like anyone who was more dark than light, he could do good acts, he has proven that much. He just did not make a habit of performing good deeds unless they served a purpose. Kindness was usually or expected to be motivated by selflessness. Oswald was motivated by greed. Furthermore, he had the tendency to view James as his unknowing knight on the board, if not exactly a witless pawn. One could see the dilemma.

Distinct and mildly irritating heat pooled low somewhere near Jim's stomach, contradicting the dread that had been around that area all day, and he fought to breathe steadily. At some point, in the wake of freeing the hand he had used to pull Oswald closer, his other hand had sneaked up and enclosed around the one his friend was using to hold the umbrella. It was soft and cold. Jim absentmindedly stroked the skin with his thumb. He felt the body against his shiver sporadically. He could not tell the reason, even if he would like to believe being drenched by the rain was the cause. Despite this, he wanted to be done fooling himself.

Oswald was breathing heavily, his own pupils dilated now as he looked up at his unlikely friend. Jim slowly turned his head downward and their noses brushed. The umbrella resembled a cocoon, blocking out the usual commotion of the Gotham City around them, while protecting their bodies from the aggressive downpour. Their eyes met again, and there was a dash of lightning that raced across the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. They jumped at the same time, causing their fronts to be molded together. Oswald's ears turned red, since he was humiliated that he was suddenly so skittish. They stared at one another, both unwilling to confront the palpable tension.

"I don't share my umbrella with just anyone you know," Oswald offered tentatively, "you're lucky that I happen to lo-li-n-not hate you."

Jim merely grunted in response. Not wasting another second, he tipped his head and took that final step, meeting the man's lips with his own. Oswald's hand shot up and pressed cold against the back of Jim's seemingly warm neck. Jim slipped his free hand onto the other's hip, sliding it slowly up over his ribs. He used his formerly occupied hand to instead slither up Oswald's arm and grasp his shoulder. Their lips molded in repetitive motions, and they undeniably fit like complimentary puzzle pieces. Jim gathered the man even closer as he sucked on his bottom lip, using the gasp that escaped his partner to deepen the kiss, sending their tongues into a spine-tingling battle.

Meanwhile, Oswald's grip on the umbrella was tenuous due to his distraction, and his hand gripping the handle was pressed into Jim's shoulder. The aforementioned combed his fingers gently through Oswald's inky locks, playing at keeping his attention on that appendage as its counterpart sneakily made its way lower, aiming for a tempting region in particular. Many times had Jim brazenly eyed the man whenever he had been walking ahead of him. He regretfully let his tongue retreat, and he pressed kisses to the other's jaw. Jim pulled on Oswald's slightly damp hair to expose his neck, just as he grabbed a handful of plump behind. Oswald groaned loudly in response, carelessly dropping the umbrella in favor of grabbing either side of the man's face and nipping his lip hard, intent on pushing his tongue into the detective's mouth in order to gain a bit more control of the situation.

Unfortunately, this goal went unaccomplished, for they were accordingly pummeled with unforgiving, freezing cold rain, much thanks to Oswald's blatant disregard of the weather conditions and the object keeping out the element.

Crying out for an entirely unfavorable reason, instead of the reasons he would like to be making lewd noises, he practically dove for the umbrella, gripping the handle and throwing the umbrella canopy over Jim, barely remembering to step under it himself, which was unusual and should have been reminiscent of his time of servitude. However, his feelings of relief and satisfaction were entirely different to him.

During Oswald's desperate grab for their savior from the onslaught, the detective had opted for pulling his jacket over his head to protect himself somewhat from the torrent. He looked incredibly disgruntled, which made the criminal mastermind in the making laugh out loud and freely before he sobered upon realizing his folly. He ignored when Jim proceeded to make a face at him, offended by his so-called friend's brief merriment as his expense.

Oswald felt like braining his own skull with the umbrella, ashamed at his negligence and additionally aggravated that the spell that previously enraptured them in a burst of intimacy that they did not know until that point had been broken. Such a spell was likely temporary and would not happen again. Any contentment he had experienced seeped out of him at that dismal thought. As such, he nearly leaped out of his skin when a strong arm wrapped around him.

"What-"

"Huddling for warmth, like you said," Jim explained.

Oswald certainly felt warmed on the inside, from head to toe, pressed into one of the only decent, respectable people in the whole of their wretched city; his own cruel, cold heart thus meaning that he was unqualified. Unbeknownst to Jim, on that rainy evening, his sunlight shone into one man's darkest spaces.

What Oswald did not realize, was his similar affect on James, the man he admired, who wanted so badly to somehow save the other yet knew deep down he could not. However, Jim would always be allowed to stand underneath his darker than night umbrella, literally and metaphorically, if to provide some semblance of comfort in knowing they would be able to trust each other.


End file.
